It happened on a Monday.
Ariella had just dropped Liam off at school and was on her way to her boutique when her phone started buzzing—calls, texts, and notifications flooding in faster than she could read them.
"Ariella, are you okay?"
"Is it true?"
"They know."
With shaking fingers, she opened one of the messages. It was a link to an article from one of Dubai's top gossip sites.
"Billionaire Damien Al-Habib's Secret Son? Shocking Photos Surface of Mysterious Woman and Child"
There it was. A photo of Liam holding Damien's hand in the park, his face blurred—but the resemblance was unmistakable. Another photo showed Ariella sitting on the park bench, looking over at them with a soft, protective expression.
Her heart sank. The secret was out.
By the time she reached the boutique, a swarm of reporters was already outside.
Ariella turned her car around and drove straight to Damien's hotel. His security team let her in instantly, and he met her at the door, fully dressed in a tailored navy suit, phone pressed to his ear.
He ended the call the moment he saw her.
"You saw it?" he asked gently.
Ariella's eyes blazed. "I told you this would happen!"
"I'm handling it."
"How? The world thinks we've been hiding some scandal. They're already calling me names online. They're dissecting Liam's photos!"
Damien's jaw tensed. "I've already scheduled a press conference for this afternoon."
Ariella froze. "What?"
"I'm going public. I'm going to confirm that Liam is my son. I'll ask the press to respect his privacy. And I'll make it very clear that you were not some secret mistress. You're the mother of my child. Period."
Ariella's voice dropped. "And what if that makes it worse?"
He stepped closer. "Then they'll have to deal with me."
The press conference took place at one of Damien's corporate buildings. Ariella watched from a private office upstairs, trembling as she looked down at the sea of reporters and cameras.
Damien stood tall at the podium, his expression calm, collected, and utterly unshaken.
"I would like to confirm the rumors circulating in the media," he began. "Yes, I have a son. His name is Liam. He is five years old, and he is the greatest joy of my life."
The room exploded in flashes and whispers.
"I chose to keep this part of my life private because I wanted to protect my son's peace and innocence. His mother and I share a past, and now, we share a future in raising him. I ask that you give him the same respect you would want for your own child."
He paused, then added, "To those who have speculated or judged without knowing the truth—this is not a scandal. This is a family."
Ariella felt her breath catch in her throat.
Later that evening, she returned home with Liam, who had thankfully been shielded from most of the media chaos thanks to Rose and the school director. Still, he was confused.
"Mama, why were people taking pictures of me?"
Ariella knelt down. "Because your daddy is a very important man. And sometimes, people want to know about his life. But it's not okay for them to take your picture without asking."
He nodded, satisfied for now. "Can he still come over?"
She smiled. "Yes, baby. He's not going anywhere."
That night, Damien showed up at the house with a bottle of wine and takeout from her favorite Thai restaurant.
"You didn't have to do that," she said as she let him in.
"I wanted to," he replied. "Today wasn't easy."
She sighed, locking the door behind him. "No, it wasn't."
They ate in the kitchen, Liam asleep upstairs. The tension between them had softened, replaced by a quiet sense of unity. For the first time in years, they were on the same team.
After dinner, they sat on the sofa. Damien leaned back, watching her carefully.
"I meant what I said," he murmured. "About sharing the future."
Ariella turned to him. "Damien, this changes everything. We're not just figuring out how to co-parent. We're trying to rebuild something that broke."
He nodded. "And we'll take our time. But I'm here, Ariella. Not just for Liam. For you, too."
She hesitated, her heart thudding.
"You think we could really try again?"
He leaned closer. "We never really stopped, did we?"
Her breath hitched. "I was so scared you'd hate me."
"I was angry," he admitted. "But I never stopped caring."
His hand reached for hers, and this time, she didn't pull away.
"You're the mother of my son," he whispered. "And the only woman I've ever truly loved."
Tears welled in her eyes.
"I still love you," he said.
She leaned in slowly, their foreheads touching. And in that moment, the years of heartbreak, fear, and separation melted into something warmer—hope.
He kissed her, and it wasn't hurried or desperate. It was soft, certain, filled with unspoken promises.
As they pulled apart, she whispered, "This doesn't mean everything's perfect."
He smiled. "It doesn't have to be. It just has to be real."